


GHOST ZONE

by RoyalPigeon



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crossover, F/F, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalPigeon/pseuds/RoyalPigeon
Summary: Crossover time! And by that I mean a FFVII ghost hunter AU in London.Tifa Lockhart owns the smallest ghost hunting Agency in London, where ghastly Visitors plague the citizens and the agency Shinra Inc has long before acquired monopoly status on ghost hunting. When Shinra tries to get its corporate hands on the especially gifted Aerith, she decides to join Lockhart & Co instead. Adventure ensues.





	GHOST ZONE

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my ghost hunter AU! Most of the premise and some side characters are taken directly from Jonathan Stroud's work, while the main characters are mainly our friends from Midgar. If you are familiar with Lockwood & Co, you will realise that the first chapter is super close to the first chapter of the book! I mainly did this to get a feel for the style and because I had trouble finding an inciting moment - but not to worry, the story arc is planned quite a few chapter ahead and will NOT stick to the plot of the books this closely at all :) Have fun!  
> (PS: If you want to read this story in German, I am also uploading it on my fav German fanfiction platform here https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5ceb3c57000201c334702537/1/Ghost-Zone)  
> (PPS: Do we still all collectively hate first-person narrators? Well kiss my ass, we're all in Aerith's head and there is nothing you can do about it)

###  **Chapter 1**

 

Before I start telling you the story, I want to make clear that Lockhart & Co., albeit not being the largest agency in London, or the most famous, is a perfectly good and honorable one. Many would argue that actually, an agency as small as this one to be prefered over more reputable ones like Shinra, or even ones that hat existed since the beginning of the Problem like the agencies Rotwell and Fittes (were those still in business). Tifa would often argue this. That agencies like ours had more  _ flair _ , and if I had learned anything from her, the  _ flair  _ was of utmost importance when dealing with a client. So please, keep in mind that in spite of what I am about to tell you, the agents of Lockhart & Co. were very brave, and diligent, and capable. And after all, we were just children. 

 

I would like to start at one of our prouder cases, but for the sake of telling a complete story, I must start at Sheen Road 62. Of course neither Tifa nor me had any idea at the time, that this would be the beginning of the biggest case in the history of the agency Lockhart & Co. thus far, when we walked up to the small brick house in Richmond. In the sense that a house can look like it is feeling any form of human emotion, the house looked sad. The paint job surely had once been friendly and bright, but that must have been years ago. Now, it was flaking off at the edges, and dirt had formed streaks under the windows as if the house itself had been weeping. For all its worth, there was nothing sinister about it. A few vines of ivy had made it up the fire escape all the way to the second floor. As i followed the green strands with my eyes, someone moved behind the upper window.

 

Tifa had already climbed the stairs leading to the front door and now watched me expectantly. I adjusted the strap of the duffle bag on my shoulder and hurried to join her. 

“Before we go in, remember what we discussed, yes?," she said, now facing the door. “No jumping to conclusions on who killed who in front of the clients. They don’t like that. And more importantly, no imitating any client within earshot. We wait until we get home.” 

“I can’t help it that I have a good ear for dialects!," I replied. “It’s an automatic response. I talk to the client, and it just happens.” 

“Then save it until we are on our own.” 

 

She reached out a leather-clad arm to ring the doorbell once, twice. 

“You think this’ll be a tough one?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t know. Cloud said it might be a type 2, but he’s always too cautious. Any death-glows yet?”

“Three, actually. Right under those shrubs over there.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the the shrubs in question.

“Fresh?”

“Really fresh, probably from this afternoon.”

“And are they really small too?”

„Mhm“

„Like a bird, perhaps?“

She hesitated, then shot me a glare. “I admit they are probably not related to our case at hand. Speaking of our case, do you think they forgot they hired us?”

I thought back to the person I had seen in the window. Someone was on the upper floor of the house. I had just opened my mouth to tell her exactly that, when the sound of rapid steps sounded from the other side of the door.

 

“So sorry, I didn’t expect you to be here so on time. Traffic was hell!” 

We turned at the sound of the voice coming from behind us to see a nervous looking woman scuttling up the same path that Tifa and I had taken earlier. Tifa smiled the dashing smile she reserved for clients and people from the press. 

“Not to worry. Miss Hope, I assume?” 

“Martin actually, Suzy Martin.”

“But it was your father Mr Hope who spoke to us about the Visitor, correct?”

“My late mother’s husband, yes. But monday he told me he wouldn’t set a foot in this house anymore, so I have to handle this.” As if to emphasize what she meant with “this," she lifted her right hand, which was tightly clutched around a ring of keys. Instead of handing it to Tifa, who had her own hand outstretched, she paused. Her gaze darted around the garden behind us, and she leaned from left to right slightly, as if looking for something.

“And all of your team is already here?”

“All of our team, yup.” I grinned. “Just the two of us. And there is no-one else in the house?” 

She shook her head. “Nobody. Even tried to catch the cat this morning, but he was not around the house. I just… I just thought that there would be, you know… someone older.”

This time, Tifa spoke up before I could. “According to the guideline, younger agents do not need to be accompanied by an adult consultant once they completed their training. Which we have. And we are the perfect age to investigate a Visitor, wouldn’t you agree?” 

The woman wavered, but still wasn’t convinced. 

“I just thought Shinra sent out consultants with their agents-” 

 

With a swift motion and a step forward, Tifa snatched the keys out of the woman’s hand. “As my partner said, we are a complete team and perfectly equipped to deal with this job. Now, if you would leave us to it, i believe the sun is starting to go down and we wouldn’t want to put anyone in unnecessary danger, would we?” 

She was still smiling dutifully, but something darker had snuck into her expression. Miss Martin must have noticed it was well, as she just nodded hastily before turning on her heel and hurrying back in the direction of the main road. 

I lifted a hand to my mouth and shouted after her. “We’ll call you in the morning!”

And with that, we were on our own again.

 

We turned once more to face the door, and Tifa put the key into the lock. Before turning it, she shot me a quick glance. 

“Ready?”

“Maybe that was just the cat that we heard.”

“Maybe”. Tifa nodded and, with a little theatrical flourish, swung the door open. We shouldered our bags, and left the sounds of the road and the birds behind us to step into the haunted house.

 

***

 

The first thing I learned as an agent was that, when you step into a haunted house, you do not hesitate. 

Cloud said that if you linger on the threshold, you still have a chance to go back. You have the life outside calling behind you, and if you wait a second too long you will turn around and flee. Cloud was also the one who explained that agents never switched the lights on, which was the reason I ignored the switch that was conveniently placed right next to the door of Sheen Road 62.  You could spot any signs of the paranormal more easily in the dark, he had said. You didn’t really need the light to see when you just let your eyes adjust. And fear sharpened the senses. 

Most of his mission briefings were gloomy like that. But things are bound to get gloomy eventually when you are dealing with the spectral remnants of the deceased, i guess. 

 

So as the experienced agents we were, the two of us stood in the dark in silence for a good minute after the front door had slammed shut behind us, absorbing the feeling of the atmosphere. It was barely past 9pm, and the late summer sun was still up, but it never hurt to look out for any Visitors that stirred early. 

I closed my eyes and did my best to engage my other senses.

 

The house felt cold. That was to be expected if Miss Martin had told the truth earlier and it had stood empty for almost a week. 

Other than that I did not get much yet. If i strained my ears, i could just barely make out a very faint tapping noise that seemed to fade in and out as I listened. Tifa had a bit more luck. 

“Death-glow at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Strong?”   
“Pretty strong for six months, if that’s Mrs Hope, but nothing too remarkable.“

 

While Tifa moved through the narrow hallway to the kitchen to set up our base and put on some tea, I took time to wander around the living room. Unlike the outside of the house, the interior appeared to be well-maintained. There was not a speck of dust on the shelves or the couch table as far as I could tell, and the air smelled faintly of cleaning agent. Not the scented kind that we would very occasionally use at home, it had the unpleasant twang of bleach or chlorine. Not something that would ever get used the Lockhart headquarters back in London for sure. I did not like the house at all. The dark floorboards were alright, I guess, but the patterned white and dark green wallpaper grated on my nerves.

I walked over to a side table framed by a pair of ugly plastic ferns and pulled open one of the drawers. One of the perks of being an agent was that you could snoop around in other people‘s stuff as much as your heart desired, all under the guise of looking for clues. 

The contents of the drawer were mostly disappointing. A set of yellowed playing cards, a lighter, a little stash of coupons. Just as I was about to shut the drawer again, I saw something glint in the light of my torch. Something was jammed into the far back of the drawer, half hidden under a stack of old Christmas cards. A few minutes of dedicated prying later, I held a wooden picture frame in my hands. 

 

I carried it over to the kitchen, where Tifa had set up two cups of tea and a plate of cookies and was now lazily thumbing through the file that Cloud had assembled for the case. Next to the tea sat our old mercury thermometer. 

19 degrees Celsius. 

Normal. 

 

Placing the picture frame between us, I joined her at the kitchen table. 

„I have a theory.“

Without looking up from the file in her lap, she raised one eyebrow and gracefully reached for her teacup. 

“A theory?” 

“Mhm,” I hummed and waved my hands over the picture frame in slow circles. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and proclaimed solemnly, “The day... Mrs Hope fell down the stairs… it was her husband who made her trip!” I opened my eyes, placed my hands flat on the table, and leaned forward. “When she told him she wanted to leave their loveless marriage, he didn’t take it well and sooo…,” I paused for dramatic effect, “...he killed her for her life insurance.”

Tifa had set aside her file was smiling at me with her elbows on the table and her head propped up on her hands. 

“And you’re basing that on a picture ?“

„I have a special sense for these things, trust me.“

At this, she perked up. 

“Did you get an Echo from it?”

“No, but look at them!” I said, pushing the frame towards her. “He has evil eyes. And she just looks… sad.”

 

In the photo, the couple was standing on the very same doorstep we had crossed earlier. The house looked better, then. They must have had their picture taken when they moved in. Mr Hope’s arm was hooked around his wife, who was smiling at the camera and holding herself very straight. She looked friendly, I thought, but frail. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Her husband’s expression was blank. 

 

“I think we’ll have a hard time telling that to our clients, Aerith,” Tifa sighed. “Do you want to hear what we’re up against tonight anyway?”

I nodded.

She shuffled the papers and pushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear before paraphrasing from the notes. 

„An apparition was first witnessed in late June, by Miss Martin‘s 7-year-old daughter. Apparently they were visiting Mr Hope after the death of Mrs Hope and stayed in the upstairs bedroom.“

„What did she see?“

„A glowing figure standing in the door. Miss Hope later reported a nondescript shape following her through the hallway when she got up at night. Cloud filed it as a Type 2.“

I sat up. „Then he did kill her!“

Tifa looked up and shot me a sceptical glance.

„Cloud says when it‘s a Type 2, someone killed someone.“

„Cloud is also a pessimistic, narrow-minded bore,“ Tifa replied. Her tone was stern, but the corners of her mouth were twitching and there was an almost affectionate look in her eyes.

I pouted. „And the old man never noticed any of that?“

„Apparently he has a hip condition that got progressively worse over the last year. Lately he hasn‘t been able to climb the stairs, so he is pretty much confined to the ground floor of the house.”

“So what you’re saying is, the party is upstairs.”

She winked and set the file down on the table. “You know it.” 

 

The temperature had dropped to 17 degrees. The fluorescent handles of Tifa’s watch showed it was a few minutes past ten. Clearly still too early for any Visitors to show themselves, but we started getting our equipment ready regardless. 

We emptied the contents of the duffle bags all over the hardwood floor. Iron chains, to keep Visitors away from us. Little bags of iron shavings and salt, to keep Visitors away from us. Neatly and carefully wrapped magnesium flares, to keep Visitors extra far away from us. 

 

I began untangling the heavy chains and watched Tifa putting on her weapons belt. As clunky as it was with all its pockets and loops, she somehow managed to make it look rakishly attractive. Maybe it was the rapier. Even if we had to watch our budget, Cloud insisted that our most important weapon was of the best quality. So our rapiers were perfectly balanced, sturdy, razor sharp and tipped in silver instead of cheaper, less effective iron. And I thought nobody wore them as well as Tifa.

 

I emptied two packs of iron shavings into the pockets of my jumpsuit and tossed the rest over to Tifa. Her leather based black-and-white ensemble did not leave an inch of extra fabric for supply pockets like mine, so she fixed the packets to her belt instead. I hooked two flares onto mine, along with a silver net and an unsealed lead glass bottle. 

 

10:26pm. Time to wait.

 

A surprisingly big portion of being an agent was sitting around and waiting. It was in the nature of the Visitors to show up when you  _ weren’t _ looking for them. You could around a creepy dark house for hours and hours without seeing anything remotely paranormal, but when you relaxed a little… let your guard down… Boom! A bloody nurse is standing right behind you. 

Or a black-eyed child. 

Or an old woman who got murdered by her husband. 

You know.

 

So we settled down again with a fresh pot of tea and waited. Tifa had taken off her silver-knuckled gloves and was immersed in a magazine. Fashion or fitness, I assumed. I pulled out the terribly dry book on beekeeping that I had been trying to get through for the past week or so. Maybe turning in my rapier to become a full-time beekeeper was not as viable a career change as  _ Pushing Daisies _ has led me to think. 

“Hey Tifa.”

“Hm?”

“Do you think insects can become visitors, too?”

She pursed her lips and considered for a moment. “I’ve never seen a deathglow from one. Maybe if a lot of them die at once?”

I gasped. “Like a ghost beehive?”

She shuddered at the thought. I shuddered, too. It suddenly felt much colder. 

14 degrees. 10:47pm.

We exchanged a silent glance. It was time. 

 

Even though we were somewhat sure the ground floor was clear, we did a quick round of the ground floor. The temperature was low, but steady. 

As we got to the front of the house, the little hairs on my arms stood up. The same tapping noise from earlier, louder this time. Rising. 

 

_ Tap _

_ Tap _

_ Tap _

_ Tap _

_ THUD _

 

Something soft and heavy landed in front of me. The force had me staggering back, knocked the wind out of me. 

I struggled to catch my breath and looked around frantically. In front of me was… nothing. No dead body with broken, twisted limbs. 

Tifa was watching me. 

“Why didn’t you tell me she fell down the stairs?” I hissed.

“Well, you could have read the file…”

“You were reading me what is in the file!”

 

Her gloved hand squeezed my arm, and I was following her up the stairs. One flight. 

We reached the top without further incident, and peeked down the hallway. A standard hallway alright. Two doors, bedroom and bathroom. Same ugly wallpaper, same hardwood floor, this time covered in a thin layer of dust, gently illuminated by streaks of moonlight coming in through the windows. 

 

The noise had started up again. The same series of taps and a thud where the body hit the floor, again and again and again. I always wondered how much of the deceased was in left the apparition. If you had to relive the moment of your death over and over until someone destroyed your source.

 

12 degrees. 

 

Tifa’s talent was mostly visual, so she took the lead while I followed behind her, listening for clues and checking the thermometer every few steps. I smiled when I spotted a trail of little paw prints in the dust. Someone had not run away after all.

According to Miss Martin, the apparition had first appeared close to the bedroom, so we did not spend much time clearing the bathroom. The thermometer actually climbed a few degrees up, when I stood at the sink. I avoided looking in the mirror as much as possible. Mirrors in the dark gave me the creeps. You never knew if a stranger would return your gaze, or maybe a dark shape behind you.  

 

From the other room, Tifa called for me. “Aerith, get over here! I think I got something!”

I found her squatting next to the bed. I crouched down next to her. 

“I actually think you were right!”, she exclaimed. In front of her sat an open cardboard box that seemed to contain various papers. She was holding a small, bound notebook. The pages, from what I could see, we covered in shaky handwriting. 

“Is that a diary?”

“Yeah. And look what i found between the pages.” She waved a printed sheet of paper. I grabbed her wrist to steady it, and straightened out the folds in the paper to get a better look. 

“She was filing for divorce?”

“She planned to at least. In the diary she writes she wants to change her will to benefit her daughter, too.” She flipped through the pages gently, resting her fingers on each page for a moment. “I say we give this to Miss Martin and let her decide what to do.” 

 

Scathing coldness shot through my hands. I yelped and dropped the divorce papers. Swearing under her breath, Tifa jumped back, knocking me over. Before I could react, she reached for my waist and yanked the bottle from my belt, grabbed the paper from the floor, and stuffed it into the bottle. I handed her the glass stopper, and she expertly sealed the bottle. There was a moment of silence, as we both sat on the floor, panting.

I was the first to find my voice again.

“So that’s why the apparition was in the bedroom, huh?”

Tifa fastened the now safely sealed and disarmed source to her own belt. 

“Are you hurt?” 

I felt tiny ice crystals melting against my skin, as she took my hands into hers and inspected them for injuries. 

“It’s not that bad, Tifa.” 

It wasn’t that bad. The skin on my fingertips looked greyish and frostbitten, but you didn’t get Ghost-Touched from holding a source for a second. 

I shook off Tifa’s hands and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. 

“I’m fine, Tifa.” I stood up and brushed some of the dust off my clothes. Okay, maybe my hands did hurt a little bit. “But will still get some salve. Are you gonna stay here and look through more old people stuff?” 

Tifa, already half disappeared under the bed, gave an approving grunt. Cool. 

I sauntered out into the dark hallway. Something about nightly houses was delightful. Especially when the visitors were dealt with. To someone, this hallway was a home. Someone’s life took place here, and I was just passing through. Just visiting. Nothing here held meaning for me, but for someone, that spot on the wall, that picture frame, that scratch in the floor was a memory. The thought filled me with calm. I could just linger for a while, just stand here and absorb the energy of the house. Listen to the gentle noises that the old house made in the changing season, watch the little clouds that my breath made in the cold air… no no  _ no! _

This wasn’t right. 

I blinked furiously, trying to fight the creeping lethargy that had gotten hold of me. Something was wrong. Something was here. 

_ But we sealed the source! _

“Tifa?” My voice was weak and barely audible. My head and then my whole body jerked, shaking off the Ghost-Lock. I reached for my rapier, clumsily, my hands cold, so cold I could hardly feel what I was grabbing at. From the end of the hallway, a figure emerged. 

For all intents and purposes, it could have been the moonlight painting silver streaks in the dusty air. But the longer I stared at it, the more I could distinguish the outline of a person. At first I thought they were impossibly tall, their thin, long arms stretched out towards me.

_ I am... cold… _

It was a woman, floating several feet above ground. Her hair was long, and gently floated in an impalpable breeze, as was her long white sundress. 

I cleared my throat and, this time shouted with some actual force. “Tifa!”

Mist spiraled around the visitor’s pallid form. Her face was a black triangle. 

_ I am… alone… _

“I could really use some help here!”

Panic washed over me. My limbs still felt cold and immobile, and there was a shrill ringing in my ears. The visitors hands pointed at me. Suddenly, her form leaped forward.

_ I am… DEAD! _

I dove down and to the side, rolling over the floor, frantically tearing at the handle of my rapier. My head slammed against the wall. Once I had regained my senses, a pair of black leather boots made up an unexpectedly large part of my field of vision. 

Tifa stood between me and the ghost, her rapier braced defensively.

She half-turned around and yelled “I got this, you look for the source!”

I pushed myself into what could almost count as a crouch and looked around, hoping that something would catch my eye. My gaze fell on the little kitty paw prints on the floor and followed them to the point the ended at the wall near the windowsill, right under the faint, greyish stain i had spotted earlier. Would a cat investigate a visitor?

I looked back at the my friend, who was fending off the horrid wraith that swooped down at her.

It was worth a shot.

TBC


End file.
